


to kiss the sea

by orphan_account



Category: Arc of a Scythe Series - Neal Shusterman
Genre: Other Characters Briefly Mentioned - Freeform, PWP, Reuploaded then orphaned goodbye everybody, Smut, religion kink if you squint, sex in da cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:28:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: cave sex. thats it.
Relationships: Jerico Soberanis/Greyson Tolliver
Kudos: 1





	to kiss the sea

He struggled to get over the smell of the cave.

It shouldn’t have been such a nuisance. Greyson knew that there was barely any air filtering into the cave whatsoever, much less its depths. Not to mention the fact that he was currently in a spot near the back of the system—it had likely not seen the sun since its formation.

“The concentration of ammonia here is within acceptable human limits,” the Thunderhead had told him.

Sure. Okay.

It was tolerable most of the time, until it wasn’t. Until he was reminded of just how bad it was. Like right now. Because he was close to the floor. Very close.

There was just one thing between him and the floor, actually. A person. Even the Thunderhead was not with him. He’d requested that it keep quiet and away. For a while. For once.

He shouldn’t have been thinking about the Thunderhead _or_ about the cave.

His face was currently buried in the dip of one of Jerico Soberanis’s toned shoulders. They smelled _good._ Sandalwood and bergamot. The sweet smell of the ocean.

He was busy nipping. Kissing. Open-mouthed, sloppy licking. Like he couldn’t care about anything else.

The ship captain under him craned their neck up and to the right, hoping to give the paler man easier access to the soft, unmarred skin there. Dark hands flew up to Greyson’s far-too-extravagant clothes, clinging at the starchy fabric and urging him to remove his clothes.

A feather-soft whine escaped their lips as Greyson’s breath, hot against the frigid cave air, finally trailed up until it was poised at the connection of their jaw and left ear. And then Greyson was sucking dark, blooming marks into their skin.

A string of curses blossomed from Jerico’s mouth as Greyson planted his knee square between their thighs, pushing against the bulge that had begun to grow, and shifted his weight so he could sink his teeth deeper into the captain’s neck.

“Take this off,” Jerico whispered, pulling at The Toll’s robes. Their voice still had that characteristic allure to it, but it was starting to strain on the edges even though the two of them had started this whole thing not too long ago. Jerico was already _so_ frantic.

The sun had set already. They’d gone deeper into the cave at Greyson’s request, who ordered the Tonists to leave them to discuss “scythe matters” in private under the pretext that Scythe Anastasia would join them later. Her appearance would be the _worst_ thing that could possibly happen right now.

Greyson laughed brightly upon remembering how well this whole little plan of his had worked out. He paid Jerico no mind, purposely taking his time. After all, Jerico had ordered their nanites to construct them a set of male genitals and it would take the good part of an hour to get the job done. They had to wait before it would be in full working order. Jeri had an undetermined number of minutes left to _survive_.

And even with this fact in mind, knowing that there was no point in rushing, Jerico continued untying all the little bits and pieces that held The Toll’s outfit together since Greyson was very insistent on disallowing them from going forward and doing anything else.

It was never part of Greyson’s act as The Toll to be cruel. The Thunderhead had told him he could make decisions about what was good or bad. What was cruel and what was just. He couldn’t particularly say he was _mean_ , considering that he typically liked to bring with him the promise of rebirth and not destruction. After all, the reformed Sibilants were all somewhere else in the cave with him. They were living proof of this.

No one ever had any stories to tell about how Greyson gave them twenty lashes or shamed them for what they’d done. He never did that. And no one had ever really said they’d had a _bad_ audience with The Toll, whatever that meant. No one really thought The Toll was _bad._ And that’s because he didn’t like to be.

But he was enjoying _this_ —being able to make Jerico bend to his will for however long this lasted while it carried no consequence. It was tiring to always have people flee or shy away or just let him do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. There was nobody who would dare to challenge The Toll at this point besides Goddard, but Goddard wasn’t a part of this at all. So there was nobody else.

No one except Jerico, who was currently at Greyson’s mercy. He was sure Jerico could turn the tables at any moment, could have their way. But right now, Greyson was sliding his holy hand under Jerico’s clothes, up the expanse of skin, towards their chest. Exploring and learning how their body felt and looked. And now the two of them were locking eyes as Greyson exposed them further. It was comforting to know they were on the same page (or maybe Jerico was chapters ahead of him) amidst the chaos of the world around them. They could forget about the shit they’d been through—and the personas they’d created—if they just took each other in. The sea and the sky, staring each other down.

It was nice. It was something Greyson could honestly do forever, and he’d decided this just not too long ago when he understood that Jerico was honestly very different from practically anyone he’d ever met before. Something about the chemistry felt very natural. Lovely, even. If he could put it that way so early.

But before he could further entertain the thought of having maybe loving them in a different way—

“Don’t you think this is unfair?” Their voice leapt—a fire, toying with Greyson’s ego. The ocean waves splashed him.

Their face was deceptively placid for the most part, a light smile playing on their lips. Trying to convince them both that Jerico was only asking a simple question for the sake of asking a question. They were ignoring the fact that the quick rising and falling of their chest and flush on their cheeks were telltale signs of just the opposite.

“What’s unfair?” Greyson smiled against their cheek, looking away. He couldn’t dare to stare at them any longer. Not in his condition. Not when his heart was pounding so hard.

“That you’re taking off _my_ clothes, which I’m helping you with, but you’re not helping me take _yours_ off at all. I have to do all the work?”

Greyson scoffed, offering a consolatory squeeze to the flesh around the captain’s nipples. “I’m still The Toll right now, aren’t I? I’m in the position of authority here—I get to do whatever I want.”

Actually, he really, _really_ wanted to take off his stupid robes, not just because he was getting kind of hot but also because he was aching to get something inside of him. But just to prove his point, he started rolling and pinching Jerico’s nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, pressing the rest of his weight against the Madagascan to imply he could pin the other there forever even though they both knew that Jerico was much stronger than him. “And besides—” he started, breaking out of his act for just a moment— “Do you really want me to stop being me when we both know you like how I’m treating you right now?”

“Like _what_?” Jerico stifled a curse, shooting a glare that lacked venom. Greyson nosed his way against Jerico’s stomach, kissing there as well. Marking the captain left and right.

“With just a little bit of disrespect, _captain_.” Greyson tilted his head up to give Jerico a playful leer.

“Hm,” they whined, and they tried to cover it up as a noise one would make if they were mulling. “Maybe I _do_ like it.” A frown of mock-irritation flashed across their face for just a moment before they snapped their eyes shut at a particularly playful pull of their nipples. Their voice quickly dissipated into fog—clarity shrouded in desire. “Apologies, _your sonority._ ”

“Mm,” Greyson moaned, reveling in the way that his title rolled off the captain’s tongue like honey. “You should call me that again,” he mumbled. Jerico nodded, a promise for later, even though they were halfway off this mortal plane already. To make things worse, he hiked up their shirt all the way and removed it, taking a pert nipple into his mouth.

Jerico’s moans were practically endless, bubbling up from their throat again and again. They grabbed fistfuls of Greyson’s hair, arching their back off the floor to push their chest against him. Greyson shoved them down without punishment, moving his head so he could start to lick and nip at the other nipple.

Waves of heat rolled off their bodies, the air around them thick. Greyson didn’t stop his ministrations against the captain’s chest until they were almost incapable of speaking. And at once he returned to the surface of the sea, settling upon Jerico’s lips. A pleased sigh got lost somewhere in the lack of space between them as they kissed, tongues clashing and exploring the inside of each other’s mouths. 

Jerico’s hands snaked towards Greyson’s crotch on their own accord, making quick work of whatever garments were covering his lower body. And then they got very handsy _very_ quickly, reaching around to grope and slap handfuls of Greyson’s ass once it was exposed. The captain’s calloused palms and strong touch drew a surprised yelp from the man’s throat, muffled in Jeri’s mouth. And Jerico giggled—God, Greyson thought that laugh was beautiful—reaching forward just a bit more to spread his asscheeks and prod at the wet slit between The Toll’s legs. He rolled his body back to guide his partner’s fingers into his pussy, but before he could, Jerico pulled their hands back.

Miffed, Greyson yanked himself away from the kiss, all heavy breaths and puffy, over-bitten lips. “Goddamn it,” he hissed between clenched teeth. The captain ground their clothed hips up against the wet heat between The Toll’s legs while he was busy cursing the captain out. 

He never finished scolding Jeri for their teasing and never completed the rest of the sentence. The silence was more of a challenge to try and prove that he, too, could be as irritating. He filled it by tugging Jerico’s belt and trousers off, careful not to snag any of the fabric on the sensitive parts of their crotch. Careful not to give the captain any _friction._ And then his free hand snapped downwards to grab both of Jerico’s wrists and put them on his hips. It was a command to stay still and keep their hands to themselves, and Jerico surprisingly obeyed without protest.

Before Jerico could ask what he was doing, their awareness of the world flickered for a few moments as Greyson wrapped his fingers around the head of their precum-and-lubricant-covered cock, giving feather-light touches with _too_ _much_ **_restraint_**. Admittedly, they were far too excited to stay still. They thanked whatever deity was out there for giving them the ability to self-lubricate, thanks to nanites. Jerico swore that if they had to take any more time out of their day to go looking for some fucking lubricant in this cave—or really, anything for that matter—they thought they might die.

When they came to, Greyson’s pace hadn’t changed. In fact, it had slowed to an agonizing crawl, and Jerico cursed Greyson for making that possible.

The latter was boring holes into Jeri, planting a hand firm against their lower stomach to stop them from bucking into his touch. Most of the rest of his clothing had come off, with only a tight black cloth wrapping around his upper chest. Even the stupid scarf was gone.

“You should try apologizing, Jerico. You’re in the presence of The Toll, and I really do have the authority to punish you.” His voice was dark and heavy but markedly unconvincing. Jerico didn’t have the brain power to be entertaining the idea at all.

“Sorry,” Jerico muttered, staring down at their cock and feeling it twitch towards Greyson’s hand as he took it away, scowling at them. 

“That’s not good enough.”

Jerico was enamored with his slender fingers and the way Greyson was able to make them come undone so easily. And then they got a better look at them as two digits snaked their way into the captain’s mouth, thrusting loosely in and out as they got to work laving their tongue over them.

To accompany the action, Greyson leaned forward, grinding his clit against Jerico’s cock with just enough pressure to elicit a high, heavy moan from the person under him. He felt the vibrations of their moaning against his fingers, and quickly pulled them out, opting to slide them into himself instead and spread himself apart. “You’re supposed to offer me respect,” Greyson breathed, clearly just as impatient. He could barely control his own thrusting or the evenness of his voice. He was trying to get himself off in the meantime, and Jerico’s noises were going straight to his crotch. “You think a simple ‘sorry’ is gonna be enough?”

“God—” Jerico started, voice fizzing out into thin air. They dug crescent-shaped marks into The Toll’s hips, grinding up into him, and they wheezed as Greyson got up for just a moment to reposition himself only so he could torture Jerico **again**. A string of curses left the captain’s lips as they tried apologizing again with renewed fervor just so that the both of them could hurry up and fuck. 

What was the statement again? That sometimes you could achieve good things with bad reasons? 

Jerico short-circuited trying to remember but was sure they were exemplifying it pretty well.

“Shit—” Jerico started, since The Toll was now practically just using them. Used his free hand to rub up and down Jerico’s cock to gather more lubricant. Angled himself so that Jerico could do nothing except watch. “I’m sorry, Greys—I mean, your Sonority.” Their eyes were blown wide with lust and humiliation, they were sure. It was unlike them to fall victim to someone else. “Please let me f—” and then the rest of the demand fell apart as Greyson looked like he was going to change to a more favorable position. Leaning _back_ so that he was positioned over Jerico’s cock. If only he just sat _down—_

The Toll sighed, glancing at them from glassy eyes. He was rubbing himself frantically. “Finish,” he stuttered, slipping his fingers out once he’d thought that he’d prepared himself enough. Undid the cloth around his chest carefully. Sat so his knees were on his robes, spread all over the floor around them. Grabbed Jerico’s cock and hovered over it. 

For a moment, they remembered that it was very much unlike them to lose their composure. “Please, your Sonority—you’re so hot—I can’t—just—put me inside of you. Please let me fuck you.” In a pathetic attempt to win his favor, they started to call him names— _my_ _lord_ , _beautiful_ , _sweetheart_ —and the man looked away, flushed. He was toying with his own nipples, trying to distract himself in a very crude and futile way.

Jerico took a deep breath in to continue showering the man in praise or resort to begging if it was required of them, but they stopped just short of moaning out Greyson’s name as he slipped the tip of their cock inside of him. A stuttered moan escaped The Toll’s mouth as he drew his brows together, taking a few long, _long_ moments to sheathe himself entirely on the impressive length. For a split second before it bottomed out inside of him, Greyson wondered if it was going to fit. And then he was waiting for Jeri to move.

They didn’t. And when he looked down to find out why, Jeri was staring straight at him. Waiting for _him._

And The Toll hardened the set in his jaw, heart swelling. He wanted to just kiss them silly. He promised himself mentally that he would. _Later._

“Move,” he whispered. “It’s an order.”

“Are you okay?” They stumbled over their words. It took _so much_ concentration to even talk.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine.”

And before he could say anything else, Jeri was nodding. Grabbing him. Burying their cock as far as they would go, and then pulling themselves out. Thrusting in halfway once. Twice. Pushing in all the way to the hilt on the third time, and then the fourth. 

Lovingly. Hard, yet careful to gauge Greyson’s reaction each time with as much concern as they could muster. Jerico was worshipping him in a way that the Tonists could never achieve.

Greyson was very much fine, but the heat was unbearable. Sweat prickled on Greyson’s skin. He could see Jerico’s chest and muscles heaving. He watched little scars on the captain’s arms move with the force of their movements. 

They were both getting worked up while Jerico pounded into him at such a firm pace. He slowly adjusted to it, snapping his hips against Jerico’s pelvis in time with their thrusts and obliging when _Jerico_ was the one who started mewling for more. 

Ignoring the burn in his hips, Greyson lifted himself and started riding Jerico’s cock, throwing his hips in erratic circles. He opted to forget how tiring it was once he heard the captain almost _scream_ with pleasure. They started to chant his name breathlessly. It was so embarrassing, he admitted, and there was a part of him that almost wanted to shrink away from the praise and the way Jerico played some sort of beautiful melody against his heart. He couldn’t hold himself back from leaning forward and pushing desperately against Jerico’s chest as he helped the captain chase their orgasm.

“I-I’m close,” the other whined, and Greyson moaned at the timbre and depth of their voice. It was driving him closer to the edge. “Me too,” he replied breathlessly, though he wasn’t exactly sure if Jerico had heard him. 

Eager to finish, they both started to move out of sync, and just as Greyson thought that Jerico was about to lose their orgasm from the lack of rhythm, he felt his muscles strain with the force of Jerico’s final thrust into his body. 

His jaw went slack as he felt Jerico fill him up from the inside, choosing to ride the captain through their orgasm with shallow and half-hearted thrusts so he could cum as well. He clenched down around their cock seconds later, wrist sore, as stars exploded behind his eyelids. Jerico threw their hands up to claw desperate lines down his back as they were overstimulated from Greyson reaching his own climax. 

He couldn’t hear anything for a while. His ears were ringing, and when he thought he was finally lucid, he swore he felt something trickling down his back. Afraid that it was blood, he reached behind himself, only to find Jerico’s fingers tracing gentle shapes there. It provided an almost ridiculous contrast.

“Jerico, I—” he started, though he couldn’t finish no matter what. They dragged their gaze up until the two of them were making eye contact. “Holy shit.” 

Jerico let out a breathless chuckle as Greyson pulled himself away and off. They twitched as their cock made a popping noise as it fell against their stomach, the fresh air in their particular section of the cave finally filling the space between them. 

Greyson collapsed onto the floor just next to them, soiling his robes. He was wiping himself clean. Or as clean as he could. He would have done this all in the makeshift bedroom, and they would both be treated like royalty. But it was too close to the rest of the Sibilants, and Greyson didn't have the guts to say that he was too embarrassed. They insisted on always keeping a close eye on him and watching him like hawks to see if he ever needed anything.

“How long did that take?” Was his first actual, real question of the night. It was very stupid.

“Enough,” was the reply, sounding very broken and very blissed out. Jerico smiled at him, the clarity coming back to their eyes. "That was very fun." 

“What time is it?” 

“Time for you to stop asking questions,” they mumbled. "You should pay attention to more _important_ things." He felt them grab at his body and pull him close.

The tide was low, now. The shore lapped tiredly against his skin.

“Not before I know what time it is,” he teased, and he scooted away until he reached his earpiece. His legs were like jelly; he didn't trust himself to walk.

He’d thrown a blanket over it to muffle the… _input_ noise. It didn’t even seem to have a microphone in it, but he just did it for formality. He wasn’t really sure if he could trust the Thunderhead to stay out of his bedroom. Maybe he was self-conscious. Yes, that was it.

“Thunderhead, what time is it?” He nearly regretted asking anything at all when he heard his own exasperation. He sounded so broken that it made him flush. 

There was silence for a few moments, and Greyson sat puzzled for a while. Contemplative. The Thunderhead really had left him alone. There were no cameras in here, so there was no way for it to _see_ anything, at least.

“Good evening, Greyson.”

There was no sort of indication to say whether it had been present or not. Greyson let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. 

“It’s currently 11:06 PM. And there’s storm clouds overhead. It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“Thank you, Thunderhead.” He paused, trying to stop himself from over-analyzing the situation or thinking about just how much the Thunderhead had heard. “Good night.”

“Good night, Greyson. Sleep well.”

And then there was silence.

He put the earpiece back on the floor and went back to Jerico eventually, who’d sat up in his absence. They were busy braiding their wild hair back, Greyson's robes thrown over themselves as covers. He couldn’t help but watch. Trailed his eyes over each and every inch of exposed skin.

“What was that for?” They laughed. He couldn’t tell if they were talking about the ogling or the questioning about the time. “Does it matter what time it is? We’re in a cave.”

“No, not really.” Greyson shrugged.

And then Jerico was snuggling him again, clinging to him for dear life. Like he’d just fly away if they let go. They'd move to the bedroom eventually, when they were dressed.

“It was for revenge.”

“Revenge for what?” Jerico blinked.

Greyson twitched. A flush overtook his cheeks, and then he turned to look at Jerico out of the corner of his eye. “You called me some _embarrassing_ things earlier. So, I thought I’d get back at you for it.”

Jerico scoffed. “You know you could call me anything and I wouldn’t get as bothered as you. You’re so easily flustered when you’re not all high and mighty.”

“Yeah, sure. I just wanted to know the weather. And there’s clouds overhead. So now I get to call you my prince.”


End file.
